


Love and War

by Rookmoon



Series: One-Shot Wonderland, Hetalia Edition! [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Aftermath, Death, Fighting, Friendship, Gen, Love, Mentions other characters, Mild Language, Soulmates, Training, Violence, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-09
Updated: 2016-11-09
Packaged: 2018-08-29 23:58:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8510920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rookmoon/pseuds/Rookmoon
Summary: Reader is involved in a war between countries. Everything they love is lost, but is everything lost?





	

Gilbert

  
It was the third year of the war. Hope was fading in (Your/Country). More people were being drafted in order to try to break the bloody stalemate between (Y/C) and Germany. You did your part. You were a sniper with aim so good, you were known as Cheshire. You were able to kill, and disapear without so much as a trace to where you might have gone. Your targets rarely knew you were there when you killed. After all, it was for the greater good, right? You nod to yourself, and load your rifle.

  
You clean and polish the weapon with smooth, meticulous motions until the metal gleams against the rising sun. You would have to cover your job again soon, but you enjoy your newly polished weapon before taking your baby apart, and putting it away.

  
You zip the duffle closed and notice the band on your wrist had moved again. It was tradition in (Y/C) military to cover the damn clock that counted down the the love of your life, or at least, who it was supposed to be, anyway. You quickly fix the cloth before you would see the numbers that had almost reached zero, and secure it with an old pin. It used to be your father's. He gave it to you when you came back from your first mission. He was a general, and had put you under the best sniper he could find to train you.

  
You had learned quickly, and easily topped the class in ranged combat. You were raised with the military, so it would make sense for you to know how to fight. Your father, who raised you, had made sure you would be able to protect yourself and, if you chose to do so, the country. You wanted to make him proud, so you joined him on the line of fire.  
You pull yourself from your thoughts of the past, and shrug the duffle over your shoulder. You walk to the range, where your best friend is waiting in a tree, munching on some strange fruit he found in it's branches. He tended to do that a lot. He couldn't help himself. He takes his shots from hidden places close to his target. You think it's ridiculous to shoot from close range, and go for longer shots, but you admire him for what he does. His track record is better than a lot of other people.

  
"C'mon, (Y/N), it's time for training." His boots hit the ground with a thud, "You need to work on hand to hand."

  
"Alright, fine." You sigh, casting your precious duffel the side. You settle into a fighting stance as he takes a swing. You never really liked hand to hand combat, but you couldn't afford to take any huge chances.

  
The two of you swing at each other in a graceful dance of blows. He kicks at your ribs, and you block. You punch at his neck, and he easily deflects your attempt at getting him. You throw your arms up, and block a blow to the face.

  
The sounds of two friends sparring slows about two hours later. Both of you are drenched in sweat, and panting. He looks fine, as usual, but you feel like bruises would sprout from your skin any moment.

  
"I'll get you next time." You pant as you lean over to catch your breath and take in the sounds of the camp. He laughs and wanders back toward the tree, away from the noise of camp. The group is preparing to move again, and everything needs to come down.

  
Germany was a difficult country to fight. War strategies are always changing, and you worry that (Y/C) wouldn't be able to keep up. You still fight hard to be useful to your country. You make sure to help your fellow soldiers whenever you could.

  
Smoke slowly curls toward the sky, blocking out sunlight and your friend sprints toward the camp. You ran after him, desperate to save anyone you could and find the people responsible.

  
You were already lucky. The place you chose to train at was away from the camp, but you worried about everyone else. You father, your friends, your family. That is what they are to you. Family.

  
You caught sight of people who had bombed your home so close to moving time. Five German uniforms running away. If only they had waited a few hours then everyone would be safe. Your friend stops you, but shoves you in the direction of the attackers when he saw the murderous gleam in your eye.

  
Your friend dashes away to search for survivors among the smoldering piles of wreckage, and you sprint after the people who think they could get away with taking your family.

  
You jump into your jeep when they run past it, heading to their own vehicle. They all look different, and there were only a handful of them. Only one of them really stood out. His white hair flew around his head as he ran. The rest look generic to you, but something demands that you catch that man. Your logical mind knew he killed everyone. You would take revenge on him.

  
You sped past the group, and rammed into their vehicle, hoping to do some damage, but German vehicles are sturdy. You doubt you really left even a dent in it. A grin found it's way onto your face, gun in hand.

  
"I know it was you." Your smile widely, and you shot two of the less interesting ones in the leg. "Who's idea was it to destroy that base?"

  
The pair fell like stones, and the other three freeze in their tracks, unsure of what to do. The one with the white hair, on the other hand, will not stop starring. You break away from his strange red eyes to stare at the others but you know the man doesn't look away from your face. His expression changes from fear, to confusion when he breaks eye contact to look at his bare wrist. You can feel yours tingling, but refuse to move the cloth. War is no time for love.

  
Time itself slows down as the admittedly handsome stranger walks right up to you and pulls the cloth away from your wrist, no longer fearing the weapon in your hands. The zeros flash at you, both mocking you for ignoring it all these years and celebrating the event that it had been counting down to for your entire life.

  
"V-Vait. Are jou-" He starts, but you cut him off.

  
"I wasn't trained for this shit!"

  
His laugh rings through the air, and you can't help but think it's obnoxious. _How can my soulmate's laugh sound so much like a snicker?_ He keeps laughing, until a blond German smacks the back of his head.

  
"Ve are in a Var, Bruder." He scolds. He takes the gun from your shocked hand and throws in into a distant bush and turns toward you. "Jou are intended for mein bruder." The albino waves in a surprisingly childish way as his brother continues, "Jou are coming vith us, Frau."

  
You fought the decision, but you couldn't really do anything about it. Your struggling caught the attention of your friend, who tried to save you. The blond German shot him. You no longer had any reason to resist. Your friend had been shot in front of you. Your family was dead. You stood up, numb, and followed the Germans as they led you away.

  
You felt you had to go, now that there was nothing left for you. There was no way you would find that strange man again, you had no one to go back to, so you followed your intended into a surprising future full of pissing off his uptight brother, and cackling along with his friends. Eventually, you stopped hurting. You would never forget your family, or your country, but at least you can be happy here with Gilbert.

It was later that you realized that what you did was reckless.


End file.
